


derogate

by pumpkinless



Series: gatekeeper [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM Scene, Begging, Blow Jobs, Choking, Cock Slapping, Consent Play, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Hole Worship, Light Spanking, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sheith, Military Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Riding, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, Size Kink, Size Queen Keith (Voltron), Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism (without any actual voyeurs), authority kink, belt spanking, boot kink, can I call it that, degradation kink, of both varieties, the admiral shirogane pov i've been waiting to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: Lieutenant Commander Kogane is late.Admiral Shirogane sets out to ensure that never happens again.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: gatekeeper [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1366036
Comments: 34
Kudos: 231





	derogate

**Author's Note:**

> some additional minor warnings in end notes if you're uncertain! but honestly if you made it through the first two fics in this series, you're probably fine to keep trucking.
> 
> all mistakes are mine because i can't look any of my friends in the eye anymore and ask them to edit this
> 
> dedicated to blue <3

Lieutenant Commander Kogane is late.

Sitting at his desk, Shiro holds a glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring at the clock in the corner of his holograph computer screen and contemplating the time ticking away. Ten minutes late. Eleven. Twelve. If it hits fifteen minutes, Shiro’s simmering disappointment is going to boil over into anger and Kogane is not going to like what happens.

Lucky for him, Kogane squeaks in at fourteen minutes late, his knock on the door light and frantic. With a heavy sigh, Shiro sets the glass on his desk with a dull  _ thunk _ and rises from his chair to walk over to the door, pressing the manual release while he’s standing right in front of it. Kogane rocks forward before he notices Shiro, his whole body poised to jump right inside and probably start spewing apologies that Shiro doesn’t have the patience to hear.

“A-Admiral Shirogane,” Kogane says, his head tipped back because he dares to look Shiro in the eye.

And, oh, he looks frazzled. Guilty. His cheeks are red and his breathing is fast like he sprinted down the halls to get to Shiro’s office. All Shiro has to do is look at the flush of his skin, the parted  _ O _ of his mouth, and his cock twitches in his pants with anticipation.

“It’s good to see you, Lieutenant Commander,” Shiro says. He’s mindful of the public hallway around them, but he makes sure that the tone of his voice gets his displeasure across. “I was beginning to think you were lost. Or worse.”

Kogane visibly swallows. Good. He knows what he’s done, then.

“Come in.”

Kogane does everything in his power to avoid brushing against Shiro as he steps inside the office and it makes the corner of Shiro’s mouth quirk. Sometimes Kogane’s behavior just makes Shiro want to laugh in his face: he can skirt gingerly around Shiro all he likes, but there’s nothing to be done for him in a situation like this. He lost his chance to negotiate the second he decided an Admiral’s time wasn’t valuable enough to respect.

Shiro closes the door and taps the button to engage privacy locks. It’s awfully convenient of his office to be so well fortified—useful for classified meetings, sensitive information, and certain . . . guests.

Though, Kogane hardly qualifies as a guest anymore. He’s a regular.

“Take your clothes off,” Shiro says, stepping away from the door without looking at Kogane. He sheds his own uniform jacket and hangs it on the coat rack that sits just inside his office, leaving him in the white t-shirt he wears under his uniform. It’s been a very long, tiring day—the kind where meetings and conference calls just don’t seem to end and the bureaucracy-induced stress and tension crescendos into a headache until Shiro hits a breaking point. He messaged Kogane two hours ago with an order to arrive promptly at the close of Shiro’s last scheduled call, which only resulted in winding him up even more. He still has another two or three hours of work to complete before he leaves his office for the night, but he needs something to take the edge off before he puts a fist in the wall.

That’s where Kogane comes in. 

Shiro sits heavily down in his chair, an exhausted sigh leaving him as he picks his glass back up to take a sip. God. And now he has to punish Kogane, on top of all of this. Why can’t he just accept that he’s a complete slut and do something  _ right  _ for once so Shiro doesn’t have to waste his time?

To his credit, Kogane is fast and efficient in stripping down. He stacks his boots by the door like a house guest and folds every piece of his uniform with the military precision the Garrison drills into all of its cadets—something Shiro has had to remind him about in their time together. His lack of respect for the uniform is worrying, but at least he’s willing to play at obedience where Shiro can see him. 

Besides, it’s no hardship to watch Kogane turn his back to Shiro as he pulls down his tight briefs. 

Shiro rubs a hand over the front of his pants as he stares at Kogane’s ass. He appreciates that Kogane doesn’t try to make it a show, doesn’t waste any more time, but that doesn’t stop Shiro from appreciating what’s in front of him. Kogane is strikingly Shiro’s type, from his pretty face to his fit shoulders and trim waist to the fuzzy black hair covering his long, muscular legs. Shiro admits that he is more attached to this officer than he should be, but rarely does he meet a man who is so perfectly attractive and utterly, shamelessly debased. He doesn’t harbor ridiculous romantic notions—that’s not what this is or ever will be—but he loves the opportunity to relax at the end of the day with a glass of top-shelf liquor in his hand and Kogane’s mouth wrapped expertly around his cock. 

He neatly downs the rest of his glass.

When Kogane finally turns to face him, his expression flashes with shock for just a moment. Shiro knows what he’s seeing: Shiro’s undershirt is tight across his chest and around his bicep and it shows off why Shiro wakes up an hour early every morning to make use of the Garrison’s gym. This is, perhaps, the most dressed-down Kogane has ever seen him, and Shiro would be a liar if he didn’t enjoy the way his officer’s eyes skate over Shiro’s body. 

The set of Kogane's mouth turns defiant as he realizes he is being watched and that will  _ not  _ do.

Shiro’s metal arm shoots out across the space between them, hand wrapping around Kogane's neck. There—there it is, the uncertainty, the hint of fear that he craves to see. Shiro drags his wayward officer closer by his throat and Kogane stumbles but keeps his feet underneath him until Shiro forces him to his knees between Shiro’s legs.

“Good boy,” he says, stroking a thumb along the line of Kogane’s jaw. “Did you see something you like?”

Kogane doesn’t meet his gaze, staring into the distance like he can pretend he isn’t here right now. Shiro doesn’t let go of his neck, holding him in place. It’s pathetic that Kogane won’t even admit his feelings, but Shiro chooses to switch tracks. He has more important questions and he doesn’t have all the time in the world for this, despite what Kogane might think.

“Was there a reason you were late today?” Shiro asks.

“It—it wasn’t my fault, sir,” Kogane says. 

That just won’t do.

Shiro slaps him across the face with a sigh. Kogane’s breath hitches at the impact but he’s learned how to take a punishment; the only noise he lets out is a soft, wounded whine. “Of course it was your fucking fault,” Shiro says. He’s trying to be reasonable here—to give Kogane a chance to explain himself and own up to his mistakes. “Tell me the truth.”

Kogane presses his eyes closed for a moment and then finally chooses to look Shiro in the eyes. “I was held up by a meeting,” he admits. “It—it ran long and I still had to—to get myself ready for you.”

“Terrible time management skills,” Shiro translates. “I’ll remember that for your next performance review.”

It’s fun to see Kogane visibly bite his tongue against the retort he wants to let loose, but even more fun that he truly does know better now. Shiro wouldn’t say Kogane is  _ well _ trained yet, but he’s learning. He knows what is expected of him.

“I’ve had a very difficult day myself,” Shiro says conversationally. He taps his thumb against the side of Kogane’s neck and tightens his grip just the slightest amount. “Not that I would expect you to understand what it’s like to be accountable to your superiors, but my work is very tiring. So when I say that I want you here at twenty-one hundred hours, I don’t want to be kept waiting like I’m some low-priority cadet asking for a lunch meeting to get career advice. Maybe next time you can be punctual.”

“Yes, sir, absolutely.” Kogane rushes to say it and Shiro knows—he  _ knows— _ that Kogane thinks he’s getting away with this. That Shiro is too impatient to deal with this like he normally would. It’s right there in his eyes, uncertainty giving way to relief more and more every second that Shiro doesn’t reach out to slap him across the face again or threaten to take his job. 

The desire to do just that wells up in Shiro, punching through his deep disappointment, but he wrestles it back down. It will make the punishment sweeter to let Kogane think that for a little while longer. 

Shiro lets go of Kogane’s neck with one final squeeze and reaches for the clasp of his pants. He’s half-hard already just from looking at Kogane naked on his knees before him and the memory of what those lips look like when they’re stretched wide around Shiro’s cock. Kogane’s eyes flicker down at the sound of the zipper and then right back up.

“Watch,” Shiro commands. He wants to see his expression.

So Kogane watches Shiro reach inside his pants and pull his cock out, stroking it tightly in his fist to make himself fully hard. It’s easy to do when Kogane is right there, staring with his eyes gone dark and full of a hunger he would never admit to feeling every time he’s in a room alone with his admiral. It’s plain on his face, obvious that as reluctant and unhappy as he is to be kept so firmly underneath Shiro’s thumb, he craves some part of this.

“Tell me how much you want it, baby boy,” Shiro whispers, the endearment rolling off his tongue like a mocking promise. He so enjoys the way Kogane squirms for him. “Bet you wish it was already in your mouth.”

“Please, sir,” Kogane breathes. He tips forward just a fraction of an inch like he can’t help himself, but that’s as far as he goes without an order to move closer. 

“Please what?”

Kogane licks his lips. “Please, sir, can I—can I suck your cock?” he asks. His eyes dart up to Shiro’s, pleading and far too excited to be anything but honest, and his hands land tentatively on the tops of Shiro’s thighs. Their grip becomes firmer when Shiro doesn’t protest, and Kogane rubs gently at the inseam of Shiro’s pants like he’s truly anticipating this. “I can make you feel better. Let me—let me make your day better.”

Shiro puts his metal hand against Kogane’s cheek and pushes his thumb against his lips, parting them so he can slip inside his mouth. Kogane welcomes it, his jaw giving in immediately.

He’s such a whore and it makes Shiro burn.

“It’s too bad I can’t keep you in my office all the time,” Shiro rumbles. He can just see it now: Kogane on his knees under the desk while Shiro updates budgets and schedules, his mouth always ready and his ass available to take whenever Shiro gets too frustrated to keep working. “Sucking cock like it’s your life’s calling. Might even loan this mouth out, keep you on call when I have important guests visiting. Give them a taste of my boy.”

Kogane’s eyes grow wide, his hands frozen on Shiro’s thighs. Shiro has to stop stroking his cock, overwhelmed by the arousal he feels at the sight.

“Sir, please—”

“Please? You want it that bad, boy?”

“No, no, please, I don’t—yours is enough for me,” Kogane says frantically. “I don’t want to—to do this for anyone else.”

“Liar,” Shiro says. He curls his fingers behind Kogane’s head, fisting them tight in his hair and pulling Kogane in so he can tap the head of his cock against his cheek. “I know how much of a whore you are for cock, it’s right there on your face. I can’t promise all of them would be as big as mine, but . . . .” He stares at the head of his cock as he traces it across Kogane’s lips, taunting himself with the trail of wetness it leaves. He sighs. It’s such a nice thought, Kogane sucking off international dignitaries and ambassadors like it’s his job, all because Shiro made him. His ass, though—Shiro would keep that all to himself, maybe put a plug in him so he can fuck Kogane after every strange man leaves and remind him who’s in charge.

Shiro’s had enough of teasing himself. No matter how fun it is to torment Kogane with the power Shiro has over him, it doesn’t compare to the bliss of fucking Kogane’s mouth. Shiro tugs him in, pushing his cock inside Kogane’s mouth and then guiding him down with both hands on the back of his head. There’s no hesitation in his movement. He pushes the whole length of himself down Kogane’s throat because he should be able to take it, has proven himself before, and the way Kogane’s mouth just  _ opens  _ for it leaves no doubt about his ability to do this.

But Kogane chokes because he can never do anything right the first time. He struggles against the grip holding him with his nose buried in the thick hair at the base of Shiro’s cock, but Shiro counts to three in his head before he lets him go.

With a horrible choking sound, Kogane tears himself away so fast that he almost tumbles over backward. There’s spit all over his chin and tears in his eyes and Shiro grins.

“Thought you said you wanted my cock, boy,” Shiro says. He takes himself in hand.

“Sorry, sir,” Kogane gasps. He leans back in like he’s going to try again but Shiro stops him with a hand in his hair.

He slaps Kogane on the cheek with his cock, relishing in the little wet smack. Kogane’s eyelashes flutter. Shiro doesn’t have to check to know that Kogane is pathetically hard, already riled up and aching from what Shiro is doing to him because the slut’s absolutely filthy. Every time Shiro strikes him with his cock, Kogane’s gaze gets a little hazier, a little more contented, and when Shiro pushes Kogane’s face against his balls, he gets a moaning mouth licking him eagerly. His officer can only put up his little reluctant act for so long once he sees Shiro’s cock, and Shiro finds him irresistible and impossible to pull away from. 

Finally, Shiro lets go of his hair. He shouldn’t have to walk Kogane through this. “Suck me off,” he snaps. 

Kogane moans.

This time, he gets it right. He swallows Shiro’s cock to the base, sliding himself down slower than Shiro thinks is necessary given his experience, but he makes it to the end and swallows, working his throat around Shiro. His lips are stretched wide, Shiro’s cock looking far too big for his mouth, and when he pulls back to suck on the head, they’re already red and swollen. Shiro sighs in pleasure and tips his head back against the chair.

Kogane works him over thoroughly and expertly. He’s been such a quick study when it comes to sucking cock and it’s a shame he can’t apply that dedication to everything else. If only Kogane was so unabashedly invested in more than this. 

But while Kogane might be a bit of a burden in general, Shiro can’t deny this makes it worth it to keep him around.

The best part is that at least Shiro doesn’t need to instruct his officer on how to do this anymore. Now he can just slump back in his chair, head tipped back and eyes closed, and finally begin to let the stress of the day go while Kogane does the one thing he’s good for, cheeks red with exertion and tears gathering in his eyes.

It doesn’t take Kogane long to get Shiro close to the edge: his enthusiasm and skill are second to none and Shiro has been pent up the whole damn day. He could make Kogane work for it, sure—force him down again and stave his orgasm off until he’s certain Kogane’s lips will still be bruised red tomorrow, but at this point, Shiro just wants the feeling of release. There’s still a punishment for tardiness to be doled out, and if Shiro wanted, he could spend the whole night with Kogane in his office, making up for his bad behavior. There’s no need for Shiro to torture himself, too.

“Is this what you wanted?” Shiro murmurs as Kogane pulls back to take a deep, ragged breath before he swallows Shiro’s cock again. There’s one perfect tear falling down his cheek. Shiro rubs a thumb over that tear as Kogane sinks back down, feels the place where his mouth opens wide and his cheeks hollow as he sucks Shiro’s cock. “So—so fucking pretty like this.”

Kogane moans loud around Shiro’s cock buried in his throat and it’s the last straw for Shiro as the heat he’s felt building crescendos rapidly. He grabs Kogane by the hair and pulls him off, just far enough away that he can’t put his mouth back on Shiro’s cock. Shiro wraps a hand around himself without preamble, touching himself to the sight of Kogane’s wet eyelashes fluttering open in confusion, his cheeks flushed brightly from exertion and his whole body moving with the force of his breath.

Shiro can’t find anything to say to Kogane, can’t even taunt him for how much he loves this, how desperate he is. Not when Shiro himself is this close. Instead, he’s going to come all over Kogane’s face and make him wear the proof of how much of a whore he is. This is what keeps Shiro coming back, keeps him from giving up on Kogane no matter how useless and disobedient he is as an officer.

“Please,” Kogane whispers.

_ Please. _

That word undoes Shiro—Kogane looks so earnest, so excited, like he’s forgotten all pretense between them and doesn’t know anything except how much he wants Shiro to mark him. There’s no way to stop his orgasm now, not when Kogane is  _ begging  _ for the chance to be owned like this, and the intensity of it shocks Shiro even though he knew it was building.

“Fuck,” he grits out, coming in a hot rush of excitement all over Kogane’s pliant face. “Fucking _ —slut.” _

Kogane whines in the back of his throat, his mouth open and waiting, but Shiro does everything he can to avoid it. Instead, he streaks across Kogane’s cheeks and chin, even a little bit on his throat, meaning to thoroughly mark him. He wants Kogane to feel messy and owned and maybe like he wasn’t good enough for Shiro to let him swallow.

It’s so fucking  _ good. _

Shiro shudders as he comes down, his cock drooling out the last few drops of come over his fingers. That bit, he’s generous enough to push into Kogane’s mouth so he can clean them off, and Kogane moans around it, his eyes falling shut in pleasure. 

“Such a whore for me,” Shiro whispers. Kogane’s eyelids flutter and Shiro rests his fingertips on his bottom lip. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir,” Kogane breathes, the words coming out like he doesn’t even have to think about it. That’s just what Shiro wants to hear—it used to take so long to get Kogane to this point, but now he doesn’t even hesitate. It’s beautiful.

Shiro pulls his fingers away with no small amount of reluctance. His limbs are heavy but his mind is sharper after getting off, the fog of the day cleared away to make room for nothing but simple arousal. Kogane is worshipful in the way he stares up at Shiro, a tamed animal, and Shiro can’t help but smirk at him. He doesn’t even know it’s time for his punishment.

“Get your belt,” Shiro says.

“Sir?” Kogane’s voice is dazed, like he’s so distracted by arousal that he can’t comprehend basic words. That’s unfortunate for him. 

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. “From on top of your clothes? Is that difficult to understand?”

“N-no, sir,” Kogane says, already scrambling to his feet. He winces as he stands, and subtly tries to stretch out his legs as he walks. 

Shiro licks his lips as he stares at Kogane’s ass. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that Kogane needs punishment for his mistakes. Shiro wants to fuck him now and he’s going to need at least a few minutes before he’s ready to go again—this is an excellent way of making that time pass quickly by.

When Kogane hands over the belt, he also offers his crossed wrists, and Shiro almost can’t believe he’s stupid enough to believe that’s all that Shiro wants from him.

Shiro holds his eye as he tucks his cock back inside his pants and zips them up. The longer they wait, the more Kogane’s face shifts back to uncertainty—he was so  _ sure _ he had a read on Shiro, that he understood what was about to happen here. His hard cock juts out between them, begging for attention it will not receive, and Shiro smiles as he looks at it. 

“You’re not allowed to come tonight,” he informs Kogane, fingers reaching out to graze the wet head of his cock. Shiro’s never known someone to get off on having their mouth forced open around his cock, but by now he should be used to this kind of pathetic, whorish behavior coming from Kogane. His perverse desperation has, as far as Shiro knows, absolutely no limits. “Too bad for you. I don’t reward tardiness.”

Kogane swallows but he doesn’t look surprised. “I understand, sir.”

Shiro stands slowly. They’re chest to chest, Kogane’s head tipped back, his face messy with Shiro’s come, and Shiro gently trails a finger along the length of his cock. This is just the start of what he deserves.

Ducking his head down, Shiro pushes his nose into the hollow behind Kogane’s ear, laying a kiss against his skin. It makes Kogane shiver. Shiro wraps his palm around Kogane’s cock, stroking him exactly once, and he imagines what he could do to punish Kogane if he came like this. How long would it take to disobey an order, if Shiro forced it out of him?

By the sound of Kogane’s bitten-off moan, it wouldn’t take very long.

“One strike with the belt,” Shiro whispers right up against the shell of his ear, “for every minute you were late. Do you know how many minutes that was?”

Kogane gasps, taking half a step back but Shiro follows him. The desk is behind him and there’s nowhere for him to go that Shiro cannot reach him.

“I’m—I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know,” he says. “Admiral, please, maybe I can—”

“I’d be careful,” Shiro interrupts. He lets go of Kogane’s cock to put a hand in the middle of Kogane’s chest and shoves him back, crowding his body against the edge of Shiro’s desk and leaning over him, careful not to put any pressure on Kogane’s cock. He’s lost the right to have Shiro touch him. “I’m punishing you for your own good, boy. To teach you a lesson. You might not want to throw that back in my face.”

Kogane’s big eyes are wide and exciting. He doesn’t dare open his mouth again.

“Fourteen minutes,” Shiro whispers. He traces a finger down the center of Kogane’s throat, reliving the memory of his cock buried inside it. “Fourteen strikes. I’m happy to make it more.”

Kogane shakes his head, mute.

“Good boy, you’re learning.” Shiro tucks a strand of hair behind Kogane’s ear just to watch him shrink away from the touch. “I don’t like spending my time punishing you, but you really should be better for me after everything I’ve given you.”

“I—I know, sir,” Kogane says. His voice has that wrecked edge to it that Shiro loves to hear on him.

“Don’t you want to thank me?”

“Thank you, Admiral. Th-thank you for helping me be better.”

The words are beautiful but Kogane doesn’t sound convinced by them. That’s alright; one day, once he has learned his lesson, Kogane will be truly thankful for every opportunity. Shiro grabs Kogane by the shoulder and spins him around, forcing his chest against the desk so his ass sticks out. He slaps Kogane’s ass just to make him jump, and then he gathers up Kogane’s wrists in his metal hand, crossing them and pressing them into the small of his back so he can’t move. Kogane doesn’t struggle even when Shiro kicks his legs further apart.

He looks the most beautiful when he’s at Shiro’s mercy.

Shiro takes the belt in his left hand, rubbing his thumb affectionately over the smooth leather. He folds it in half, grasping either end and leaving an open loop.

“I want you to count each strike for me," Shiro murmurs. “And I want you to think about how you could have prevented every single one of them by showing up on time. Remember I'm doing this because you made me, not because I want to.”

“Yes, sir.”

The acknowledgment is so pathetic and small that Shiro has to roll his eyes. Kogane is spoiled and coddled and that's why he needs a firm hand to guide him. That Shiro has committed to being that hand is a very generous gift, and still Kogane acts like he's above the service he's committed himself to.

Honestly, Shiro doesn't feel like he asks for much: timely attendance, obedience to explicit commands from a superior officer, humility, and hard work. It's what he expects from any officer in their line of work. Disobedience, tardiness, or laziness are not the traits of successful Garrison officers, and Shiro has spent years of his life weeding out that weakness. Kogane is perhaps a little more desperate than the average person, a little more shameless, but in the end, he is no different from any other officer Shiro has brought to heel. 

Taking a deep breath, Shiro reminds himself that progress is not always immediate. Kogane will learn. He’s come a long way in the short time they’ve been working together and Shiro has been reaping the rewards of his surprising dedication to serving his superior. 

This, here, is an excellent learning experience because Shiro does not intend to go easy. He won’t warm Kogane up with a couple of easy swats, won’t give him the chance to get used to the feeling of leather whipping against his skin. Kogane will experience his punishment in full, and any consequences of it lingering with him will be only self-inflicted. 

He presses Kogane’s wrists harder into the small of his back and that’s the only warning he gets that it’s about to begin. Raising the belt, Shiro steadies himself—he will be forceful but not vengeful. Kogane is beautiful in pain and arousal and Shiro enjoys toying with him, but this is a corrective punishment. As soon as this is over, Shiro can do whatever he wants to Kogane, but this needs to be a clear enforcement of the rules.

It’s so hard to do when all Shiro wants is to hurt Kogane until he’s broken and begging for it to end. He is  _ beautiful _ when he has nothing left to give.

Shiro brings the belt down over the round curve of his ass. Kogane yelps at the first strike, lurching away from Shiro even though there's nowhere for him to go, and one of his legs kicks out in surprise. His ass bounces at the impact.

Shiro waits for a beat until Kogane remembers his orders.

"One," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy," Shiro says in approval, and then he strikes Kogane with his belt again, even harder this time.

Kogane shudders but he counts the second strike promptly, his voice thick with what Shiro imagines to be tears, and it sends excitement rushing through him. He imagines Kogane’s face covered in come and tears when he finally turns him around again and it sends the first renewed spark of arousal straight to his cock.

“Are you grateful?” Shiro asks him. “That someone like me would take time out of a busy schedule for you?”

“I am, s-sir,” Kogane says. His fingers curl up into fists still held tight by Shiro’s arm.

“Then let me hear it,” Shiro orders, dragging the belt tauntingly over Kogane’s ass. “I want to know exactly how thankful you are.”

Kogane’s answering  _ yes, sir  _ is lost in his shout as Shiro turns the belt on him again.

Shiro is not reckless or uncaring as he turns Kogane's ass red, but he refuses to let the sound of hitched, half-hidden moans of pain sway him from his task. No matter how much he wants to see the expression on Kogane’s face—be it distress, anger, surprise, or something else—he will not back down. Kogane moans in pain up until the tenth strike and that’s when his voice finally cracks open and he sobs. His body shakes with it, every breath shuddering through his chest, and Shiro can barely understand him when he bites out the word  _ ten. _

“Keep it together,” Shiro snaps. He lays a hard strike across the tops of Kogane’s thighs, wants to see them red and burning, and Kogane’s entire body shakes.

Shiro counts to five in his head—that’s how long it takes Kogane to speak again. But the word comes out muffled and unclear and it doesn’t sound quite right. Pausing, Shiro cocks his head. “What was that?” he asks. “Speak up.”

Kogane moans, straining to turn his head and press his cheek harder against the surface of the desk.

“Officer?”

“E-eleven,” Kogane groans. His arms pull against the hold Shiro has on him and so Shiro pushes against his lower back, trapping him thoroughly.

“Is that what you meant to say?”

There’s another long moment spent in silence while Kogane gathers the strength to answer, but when he finally does, the response is unequivocal: “Yes, sir.”

As soon as the words leave Kogane’s mouth, Shiro hits him again. This time, he counts to seven before Kogane chokes out the number  _ twelve,  _ but it is unmistakable.

“I don’t have to go all the way to fourteen,” Shiro offers. He has a reasonable alternative for Kogane, if he’s too weak to take his punishment. “I’ll kick you out of my office just like this instead, with your ass red and your face covered in come. I’m sure there’s another admiral around here willing to deal with you.”

“No,” Kogane gasps. His body convulses like he’s trying to throw Shiro’s hold off, so Shiro puts more pressure on his wrists. They’ll almost certainly bruise from this and the thought makes Shiro lick his lips. “Sir, I’m—I can take it, I—”

“Can you?” Shiro asks. “I thought you were stronger than a short punishment, but—”

“Please, sir—”

“Pathetic,” Shiro snarls. He whips Kogane again with the belt, the hardest strike yet, and Kogane screams with it. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you think this is how a good officer acts?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Kogane gasps. He squirms underneath Shiro’s hold. “Please, I’m—thirteen, that was thirteen.”

“Can you handle one more or should I write you up for insubordination?”

Kogane bites down on a sob. “I can—I can take it,” he swears. It’s always sweeter when he begs for it, when he shows how truly depraved he is. “Please—please, Admiral. I d-deserve it.”

Shiro’s cock twitches in his pants at the use of his rank. He’s silent while Kogane’s harsh breathing pierces the air, sobbing for something he shouldn’t want but does, and so Shiro strikes him again across his reddened ass.

The noise Kogane makes is bitten into silence as his whole body tenses up in pain. He manages to say, “F-fourteen.”

Shiro throws the belt to the side and Kogane flinches at the clatter of the metal buckle on the ground. Shiro's chest heaves like he's run a marathon. Kogane's ass is lined with stripes of red, a few stray marks continuing down the tops of his thighs, and Shiro can't resist touching it.

He slaps Kogane's ass, pulling a wretched groan from deep in his chest. There's something so enticing about the way he submits to Shiro—once he's finally wrestled into compliance. Kogane doesn't resist the hand still trapping his wrists against the small of his back, doesn't protest and tell Shiro to let him up now that he's gotten the chance to punish Kogane like he wanted. It fills Shiro with a burning hot arousal that courses through his body, makes him want to see just how far he can take this before Kogane has utterly nothing left to give.

Shiro pulls Kogane up to spin him around without releasing his hands. His face is an absolute fucking mess—tear-streaked and still covered in Shiro's come, his cheeks flushed and his bottom lip swollen from biting it to keep himself quiet. He’s hard, too, his cock still flushed and leaking and not at all deterred. 

He is beautiful.

His left hand grabs Kogane by the neck and pulls him in so Shiro can bite at that mouth himself. He presses his tongue into Kogane's mouth just to see what he'll do and, to Shiro's surprise, Kogane shudders and then kisses him back. He's not nearly as enthusiastic as Shiro is, but he doesn't simply sit there like Shiro expected. He sighs into it like he's finding something comforting in the touch.

God, he's truly pathetic.

But Kogane is the kind of pathetic that Shiro loves to ruin, so he finally drops his hold on Kogane's wrists and pushes him up so his ass is sitting just on the edge of the desk. That makes Kogane whine but the hand still holding his neck doesn't let him go anywhere while Shiro frantically reaches for his pants to free his cock, already hard again from the excitement of wrecking Kogane.

With one last bite to his bottom lip, Shiro pushes Kogane down onto the desk. He pushes Kogane's legs back to his chest, exposing his reddened ass for Shiro to slap again. This time, he gets to watch the reaction on Kogane's face—stunned, in pain, undeniably turned on.

"There's my whore," Shiro whispers. He brings his hand down on Kogane's hole this time, making him whimper a whole different kind of way. "I really shouldn't fuck you after your punishment, I don't want to reward you." Shiro pushes his cock against Kogane's hole, licking his lips. It never looks like it should fit, but Kogane always lets him inside.

"Hard to resist, though, when you come to me ready to get fucked," Shiro says, half to himself. He presses forward but not quite inside, just watching the way Kogane yields to him. "You're late, you're lazy, you're petulant, but you're so eager for someone to fuck you. Hold your legs up. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“’M sorry, sir,” Kogane whispers. His hands shake as they wrap around the backs of his knees and he stares up at Shiro with these great big watery eyes. It leaves Shiro with his hands free to tug Kogane into position, his ass hanging off the desk so that Shiro will be able to fuck inside him without a hint of resistance. For his own amusement, Shiro slaps his hole again, mouth curling up at the way Kogane whimpers and squirms. There is, apparently, no limit to what Kogane would allow Shiro to do to his body—no touch is too degrading, no pain forced upon him too much to ask. 

Shiro’s breath leaves him with a shudder. He glances up to meet Kogane’s gaze, his expression full of something unnameable.

“I can tell you want it bad,” Shiro whispers. He notches the head of his cock against Kogane’s hole, pressing just hard enough to make Kogane’s breath hitch with anticipation, but he holds himself back from going any further. “Ask me politely.”

“Please, sir,” Kogane gasps. 

His tone is honest but his words are lackluster and Shiro lays another hard smack right over the reddened skin of Kogane’s ass, making him shout before he lets go of one of his legs to slap a hand over his mouth to stay silent. Shiro doesn’t say anything but Kogane gets the point.

“Sir, please,” he gasps through fingers still over his mouth. “Please, sir, Admiral, will—will you f-fuck me? I want it so—so bad, need your cock,  _ please.” _

Kogane’s voice starts to break. He’s beautiful to look at like this, tears in his eyes and Shiro’s come still splashed across his face like some terrible mark of ownership. Terrified of what more Shiro will do to him. Of his power, of what Shiro can make him feel—of what Shiro can make him do to himself. 

“I don’t want to anymore,” Shiro decides abruptly. He withdraws, stepping back from Kogane so he can settle in his office chair as Kogane watches him, his expression lost. “You can take care of me. Hurry up, officer, I don’t have all night.”

Shiro strokes a hand over his cock as Kogane’s eyes widen. He spits out a quick  _ yes, sir _ as he scrambles to sit up from the desk, aching body making itself known in the wincing on his face. 

“Remember, I’ve had a difficult day,” Shiro sighs as Kogane plants a knee on Shiro’s chair. “And then I had to punish you on top of all of that.” He puts a hand on Kogane’s hip, stopping him before he swings his other leg over Shiro’s lap and settles in. “I think it’s only fair that you turn around and give me a real show, yes? Since your slutty hole is the only part of you that does its job properly.”

Kogane gapes at him in disbelief. “Sir, I—”

Shiro shoves him back with the hand on his hip, so hard that Kogane almost falls to the floor. “You’re not about to argue with an Admiral, right, Lieutenant Commander?” Shiro growls. 

“N-no, sir. I’ll, um, I can do whatever you want.”

“You will.”

Shiro lets the threat hang in the air between them as Kogane turns around, showing off his perfectly round and bruised ass. It’s an awkward struggle for him to climb onto Shiro’s lap backward, but the chair is roomy and expansive with plenty of space for Kogane’s knees to find room on either side of Shiro’s legs. Shiro slumps down in the seat just enough to give Kogane all the space he needs to sit on Shiro’s cock. 

“Fuck yourself,” Shiro growls as Kogane reaches behind him to line up Shiro’s cock with his hole. Kogane’s other hand is braced on the edge of the desk across from them, and the position forces his back into a long, beautiful line for Shiro to take in. “I want to see how grateful you are to me. I’ve been so good to you.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Kogane breathes. Shiro makes sure to spread his ass open so he can watch Kogane try to sit down on his cock, but his hole is almost too tight to let it inside and it’s immediately clear Kogane is going to need some help. Shiro sighs and sends his prosthetic arm to reach for the bottom desk drawer and pull out the bottle of lube he keeps there for those special occasions Kogane comes to visit him. There’s no pleasure for him if Kogane is too dry to take it.

“Th-thank you, sir,” Kogane says. He sounds relieved, which Shiro thinks is far too presumptuous, but he ignores it in favor of finally fucking Kogane.

While he slicks up his cock, Shiro doesn’t let Kogane move from his half-raised up position. Let his thighs tremble from the effort, let him feel the strain in his body—make him feel the last dregs of his punishment. 

“Maybe,” Shiro says with a steely tone, “you would be  _ ready _ if you learned to manage your time. Useless slut.”

And then, giving him no chance to respond, Shiro holds tight to Kogane’s hips and forces him to sit down on his cock, spearing him open without a thought to remorse. A beautiful moan punches its way out of Kogane’s chest and Shiro has a front-row seat to watch him  _ take it,  _ his legs trembling with overwhelming sensation.

Kogane is tight, no way around it, but he’s not so tight that he can’t take Shiro the way he’s meant to, especially now that Shiro’s cock is wet. He doesn’t give Kogane a moment to compose himself, dragging him down until he’s resting on Shiro’s thighs, cock completely buried inside. Whole body wound tight, Kogane does his best to give him no reaction beyond his initial moan, but there’s nothing to be done for the way his hands squeeze the edge of the desk so hard it creaks. He clenches tight around Shiro as he tries to relax, but Shiro slaps at his sensitive inner thigh to keep him on his toes.

That’s what finally gets Kogane to break his stony silence. A broken moan resounds in the back of his throat.

“Are you going to move at any point?” Shiro asks. It takes effort to hide the strain of arousal in his voice—Kogane is so fucking hot and tight, but that’s about all he’s got going for him right now. 

“Sorry, sir,” Kogane gasps, “I just—I just gotta adjust, I swear I’m—”

“No excuses,” Shiro snaps. “You said you stretched yourself already. Are you a liar now, too?”

“Never, sir, never.” Kogane shivers and arches his back slightly like he’s trying to figure out how to contain whatever he’s feeling throughout his whole body. Shiro doesn’t care. He wants Kogane to do his goddamn job.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Shiro demands. “I’m not getting off like this, boy.”

Kogane’s head hangs low so Shiro can only just see the top of his hair. “Sorry, sir,” he whispers, punctuating it with a roll of his hips.

“Don’t apologize if you’re not going to  _ fix it.” _

“Y-yes, sir,” Kogane hisses. Slowly, he gets into the motion of it. He rocks in Shiro’s lap with a steady rhythm, not so much riding him as he is just grinding his ass around Shiro’s cock, but so far that isn’t a complaint. Kogane is enticing around him, and finally, Shiro gets his chance to relax. He drops his head back against his chair and closes his eyes so he can sink into the feeling of it.

“This is all I wanted out of you,” he tells Kogane. “If you had just been on time, you would have gone home already. Insolence got the best of you.”

“I—” Kogane cuts himself off, worries over his words, and then tries again. “I really—really tried to get here, sir, I swear,” he says. “I didn’t—”

Kogane’s chatter is interminable. Shiro slaps the roundest part of his ass to shut him up, exhausted of this game where Kogane apparently thinks his thoughts are wanted or needed. Kogane makes a wounded noise as his body jolts with pain, but at least he remains silent.

“The only thing I want to hear from you,” Shiro reminds him, “is how much you love the opportunity to get me off, yeah? Everything else you say, I don’t care about.”

“Of course, sir.” Kogane huffs out a little sigh. “You feel—feel so good inside me.”

“Excellent.”

That spurs Kogane finally to put his thighs into it and quit lazily relying on the rocking of his body to finish Shiro off. He bounces on Shiro’s cock in a smooth, controlled rhythm, surprisingly well-balanced on the edge of the chair despite the awkward position Shiro has forced him into. Every thrust down pushes a huff of breath out of his throat that sometimes ends in a moan, like every time Shiro’s cock fills him he has to make space inside his body. 

Opening his eyes again, Shiro looks down and gropes Kogane’s ass with his left hand, appreciating the smooth flex of his muscles as he moves. Curious, Shiro pushes his fingers in further, questing for the stretch of Kogane’s hole around a thick cock, and when he finds it, rubbing against the rim and teasing at the side of his cock, Kogane shudders.

“Such a slut,” Shiro murmurs half to himself. “Takes so much to fill this greedy hole up, huh? Look at that.”

“You’re so—so big, sir,” Kogane gasps, his hips bucking wildly for a beat.

“That’s just what you need, isn’t it?” Shiro asks with a laugh. “Bet you wouldn’t whore yourself out like this for anything smaller.” Kogane whimpers and his hips screw down hard, like he forgot himself in a flash of arousal, and that makes Shiro grin. “Would you?”

“No, I—I wouldn’t, sir.”

“Why’s that?”

The question shocks Kogane enough to make him settle in place, impaled completely on Shiro, 

“Did I say you could stop?”

Kogane stutters back into action, his movements ever more frantic even though his thighs are starting to shake with the exertion of moving his whole body without any help. He breathes hard through his open mouth but that does not stop Shiro from demanding an answer to his question.

“I’m only—only a whore for you,” Kogane whispers. “Just like you said. There’s—there’s no one else, sir.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s what I asked.” Shiro squeezes Kogane’s ass hard, making him wince, and then his hand reaches around to grip Kogane’s pathetically hard cock, leaking from the tip and begging for a release that will never come. “I don’t think you’d be hard like a slut while I used you if my cock wasn’t up to your standards, isn’t that right?”

Kogane whimpers. “N-no.”

“You’re lucky I’ve decided you’re worth using to get off.” Shiro strokes Kogane’s cock lightly, tauntingly, and he enjoys the way it makes Kogane’s breath hitch and roll out of him. “Harder,” Shiro orders. “Move faster.”

“I don’t—don’t think I  _ can,  _ sir,” Kogane gasps, “I’m sorry, I’m—”

Shiro holds tight to the base of Kogane’s cock with one hand while the other returns to trace around his rim. “I think you’ll figure out how,” Shiro says, “unless you want me to start adding fingers. Never a bad time to figure out how much you can  _ really  _ take.”

Kogane sobs, flinching away from Shiro so hard that his cock slips out. Shiro shushes him and urges it back inside.

“Please don’t,” Kogane begs, his voice raw with fear. “Please, sir,  _ please  _ don’t—”

“Then fucking get moving,” Shiro growls, slapping his ass hard. “Did you even listen to what I said or were you too busy just drooling over my cock?”

And so Kogane obeys, even though Shiro can see how much it strains him to push his aching, bruised body further. Shiro delights in knowing that he owns this man; anything that Shiro wants, Kogane will do for him, even when it pushes him to the absolute limits of what his body and mind are capable of. He’s the best kind of slut, pretending to be embarrassed by the things he does for cock, but the truth is he’s needy and craven, and all of it is for Shiro. All of it, from his loud mouth down to his fucked-open hole, taking everything Shiro gives him. 

Kogane says something then, so quiet that Shiro almost misses it.  _ Please,  _ he sounds like.

“What is it?” Shiro says. This better be worth his time, if Kogane is going to insist on interrupting when Shiro is this close to orgasm. 

“Please, sir,” Kogane gasps. “Please, I need—please.”

“Please  _ what?”  _ Shiro snaps. 

Kogane whimpers, screwing his hips down hard, his muscles clenching so deliciously that Shiro’s eyelids flutter. “P-please,” he pants, “please come inside me, sir, I—I need it. Need you to f-fill me up.”

Arousal roars in Shiro’s chest and he has to fight to keep himself from coming just like that. He won’t give into Kogane’s whims so easily—no matter how good it feels to hear him beg to be filled, marked, owned. 

“Who says you’ve earned that?” Shiro growls. “You think you deserve whatever filthy things you want just because you’re a whore for my cock?”

“Please, Admiral, I—”

Shiro breathes hard, forcing back the flare of heat inside him that can’t help but respond to the sensation of Kogane bouncing enthusiastically on his cock and using his title. “I’ll make a deal,” he says, stroking his hand up Kogane’s cock. Kogane gasps in surprise like he had forgotten Shiro was still touching him there. “Make me come like this and I’ll fill—fill your slutty ass up like you want. But if you come first, I’ll have to go get my belt again. That sounds fair, right?”

But Kogane doesn’t seem to agree. His hips stutter and he shakes his head, trying to twist his body away from Shiro’s hand stroking up and down his cock, teasing him to the brink of orgasm. “No, sir, no, please, I can’t, not again, I—it’s too much.”

Shiro spanks his ass three times to shut him up. When he takes Kogane in hand, his grip is even surer.

“You don’t get to say no to me. So you better—better hurry up, boy,” Shiro whispers. “Before I get to put more bruises on your ass.”

Kogane sobs, his whole body jerking with the motion.

Shiro’s promises are empty threats but Kogane doesn’t know that. Shiro is on a hair-trigger, doing everything in his power to stave off his orgasm, but he can’t hold out indefinitely. He tries to steady his heavy breathing, to calm his mind and close his eyes against the pretty sight Kogane makes in his lap, but there’s only so much one human can do. And as Kogane forces himself to move faster, fucking himself so hard on Shiro’s cock that their skin slaps together unforgivingly, Shiro accepts that his end is here.

“That’s it,” he groans, “just like that, fuck. Fuck, you’re—”

Orgasm slams into him. He legs go of Kogane’s cock and grabs his hips instead, pulling Kogane’s ass all the way down so that Shiro can grind up against him and come deep inside, make him filthy, so fucking nasty. Words fall out of his mouth but Shiro doesn’t know what they are, can’t muster enough brainpower after his second orgasm of the night to even think. It doesn’t matter: all that  _ does  _ matter is fucking Kogane full, leaving him wet and dripping so that he’ll never be able to forget how deeply Shiro fills him. How much he is  _ owned  _ by the Admiral.

His grip on Kogane relaxes slowly as the adrenaline begins to fade. He feels like the best kind of wrung out, thoroughly satisfied in a way that makes him think fighting against all of Kogane’s protestations was. worth it. 

Kogane shivers in his arms. “Th-thank you, sir,” he whispers, like he can’t believe Shiro gave him what he asked for.

Shiro snaps at him to stay silent. He wants to enjoy his afterglow.

***

Shiro calls the scene while Keith is still whimpering and squirming on Shiro’s softening cock, desperate to find more stimulation to soothe his aching hardness. Gentling his grip on Keith’s hips, Shiro gently tugs him off his cock, hushing the whines coming out of Keith's mouth. He pulls Keith in for a full-bodied hug, rubbing his hands up and down Keith’s naked chest. 

Using his most soothing voice, Shiro comforts him, talking him back into a mild form of coherency as Keith gradually becomes more boneless Shiro’s arms, sinking back against him.

After a long moment of rest just like that, he carefully guides Keith to stand up again, supporting him as his legs threaten to buckle. Shiro urges Keith into his clothes so they can walk back to their quarters and get both of them into the shower, wash the sweat off, and finally relax. Keith protests at first, unwilling to accept the scratchy pants on his legs, but Shiro promises him that it’s only a few minutes and once they’re home, Keith can have and do whatever he wants. Shiro swears to it. 

Shiro also has to dig out a packet of makeup wipes he may or may not keep in his office for this exact purpose to clean Keith’s face of the unmentionable mess covering it. Keith frowns at him but doesn’t object. He picked these wipes because the scent is better than any other kind.

The halls of the Garrison are as empty as expected, but Shiro still worries the whole way back home that someone will ambush them for a chat. Of course, he’s perfectly willing to be rude in a situation like  _ that  _ but he’d prefer it not to happen at all.

They arrive home without delay, though, and Shiro is uncompromising but soft as he immediately herds Keith into the kitchen for a tall glass of water to help stave off any potential headaches. Keith sheds his clothes there out of frustration and then makes Shiro drink some water too, his mouth curled up into this cute pout that Shiro would do anything to smooth away.

Shiro likes to think that aftercare is where he really shines. Post-scene Keith reminds him a lot of sleepy, all-nighter Keith, in some ways: he’s exhausted and in need of someone to walk with him back to the bed after a shower to make sure he doesn’t wander off to the training deck. Shiro gladly accepts the responsibility in either case because he loves his ridiculous man and feels uniquely qualified to take care of him, if only because he’s the only person in the world Keith wouldn’t challenge to a duel for the suggestion that he needs rest, not knife-fighting.

After the shortest possible shower, Keith is quiet on their bed, naked and skin just slightly pink still from the heat of the water. Shiro wants to cover him with a blanket to keep the chill of the air away, but Keith had turned down the offer the first time and Shiro doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries. 

Instead, Shiro makes himself busy picking up after them. He retrieves Keith’s clothing from the kitchen and hangs the uniform pants and jacket up in his side of the closet to be worn another day, and then dumps socks and underwear in the laundry hamper. Shiro is thankful to find another set of his own uniform in the back of the closet—his jacket is forgotten on the coat rack in his office and upon close inspection, he finds some seriously suspect stains splattered across the front of his pants. It’s probably just lube, but they need to go through a laundry cycle.

He’s definitely made the mistake of forgetting to check that before. He has regrets.

Keeping his footsteps light, Shiro swipes the half-empty glass of water from Keith’s nightstand and slips into the kitchen to refill it for the third time. While he’s there, he checks in on the state of their refrigerator: not much to brag about right now because they desperately need to remember to actually go grocery shopping instead of hoping that Kosmo will just do it for them. He digs around in the cupboard instead and comes up with a treasure—Keith’s favorite kind of dark chocolate, which is unforgivably bitter on Shiro’s palette. It’s no meal, but between that and a protein bar, Shiro thinks this is a reasonable snack on a late night. Maybe he can offer tea if Keith wants something hot.

After switching on the electric kettle, Shiro carries his bounty back into the bedroom and lays it out gently on the nightstand, within Keith’s reach but not pressuring him if he’s not hungry. Keith’s eyes slide open to watch him, tracking his movement with interest.

“Thought we were out of chocolate,” Keith rumbles. His voice is all scratchy and used up and Shiro’s heart flutters at the sound.

“Found it in the back.” Shiro reaches for him, touch hovering just above Keith’s face until he gets a quirk of Keith’s lips in acceptance. Gently, Shiro pushes a strand of hair off Keith’s cheek and tucks it behind his ear. “Want me to open it for you?”

Keith licks his lips, considering. “Only if you feed it to me.”

Shiro huffs out a laugh, his heart swelling. “Of course, baby. Do you want tea for your throat?” 

“I’m okay.”

“Alright.” Shiro leans down to kiss his cheek, telegraphing his every movement so Keith can tell him to stop, but instead, he gets a hand curling around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a real kiss, sweet and full on the mouth. Shiro sighs into Keith’s lips, uncaring that this is the worst angle for his back, and the kiss lingers.

“Nice,” Keith whispers when Shiro finally pulls away.

Shiro snorts at him, rubbing a thumb over his ear. “I have to go get my tea.”

“Hurry up, I want my chocolate.”

The words are teasing and light and they make Shiro glow. Keith is bouncing back fast this time and it’s good to see the sparkle come back to his eyes as Shiro leaves the bedroom again, a smile on his face. Despite all his confidence that Shiro knows Keith like no one else, sometimes he still worries that he’s inadequate at aftercare, that when Keith takes a long time coming back to himself it’s because Shiro missed something that he needed.

Keith assures him this is not the case. It’s just that different sessions take him to different places, he says, and Shiro is always gentle with him. 

Shiro hopes that’s true.

For his part, he enjoys the chance to take care of Keith like this. At any other time, his attention to Keith would be called hovering and Shiro would even be annoyed at himself over it, but nothing calms his brain down like getting Keith clean in the shower and settled into bed with anything he could desire to eat or drink. 

Plus, tea is his personal secret weapon. Shiro hordes tea like a dragon hordes treasure, and he saves chamomile specifically for after scenes. He’s never had much of a taste for it, preferring most other herbal teas instead, but there’s something about the relative blandness of it in his mouth that soothes him in times like this. Recently, Keith gifted him an interesting Italian blend that has fennel and rose mixed in with the chamomile leaves and Shiro is sort of addicted to it. Tonight, he brews an extra-large mug, no sweetener, and the scent alone calms him. 

Standing over the counter with his tea cupped in his hands, Shiro takes a deep breath for himself. Rough scenes can leave him fidgety and desperate to keep moving, to busy his hands and mind, but that frantic energy never soothes him fully. What he needs is his tea and his favorite sweatpants and Keith’s presence.

He has two of the three now. It’s time to go collect the third.

Shiro holds the mug of tea in his right hand so it doesn’t scald his skin. When he enters the bedroom, he finds that Keith has rolled into the center of the bed and pulled a quilt up over him. He looks expectantly at Shiro, the space beside him a clear invitation, and so Shiro goes where he is summoned.

Sitting down with his back against the headboard, Shiro is barely settled by the time Keith is squirming over to lay against him, wrapping on arm around Shiro’s waist and using his chest as a pillow. That leaves Shiro with his right arm dutifully floating in the air with his tea and his left arm available to reach over to grab the bar of chocolate. The label claims it’s 95% cacao, which is absolute madness in his opinion, but he dutifully wrangles his hand and teeth into tearing the package open and breaking off a square for Keith. 

He holds it up to Keith’s mouth, and Keith takes it with a happy little hum, his eyes sliding closed as he lets the chocolate melt on his tongue. Shiro smiles and takes a sip from his mug.

They lay quietly for a long time, sipping tea and eating chocolate squares. In their busy lives, a long, calm moment with his husband is more precious and rare than even finding the time for a rough scene. There’s something so magical about laying still with Keith, wrapped up together, kissing the top of his head every so often and getting a whiff of his shampoo. It’s a special kind of togetherness.

Shiro’s tea is down to the dregs when Keith speaks up.

“That was fun,” he says. His pointer finger is drawing lazy designs over Shiro’s skin, and Shiro is very lucky his sides aren’t ticklish. “The belt was—I liked that.”

“I could tell,” Shiro murmurs. He gently sets the tea mug down on the nightstand so he can rest that hand on Keith’s hip, bringing them ever closer. Belts are . . . not something they’ve used for that purpose before, but they’ve chatted about the possibility a few times and Shiro was confident in his decision to bring it out. “You sounded so good taking it, baby.”

Keith snorts. “And you sounded so good giving it,  _ daddy,”  _ he says with a heavy dose of sarcasm that makes Shiro laugh.

“You  _ did  _ sound good,” Shiro says, pressing a grinning kiss to the top of Keith’s head. “I actually thought you safe-worded for a second there when I couldn’t hear you say  _ eleven.” _

“Eleven doesn’t sound anything like the word  _ red,”  _ Keith says with a soft snort.

“I know,” Shiro sighs. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Mm.” Keith taps his index finger against Shiro’s ribs. “When I said our next scene should be you punishing me for being late, I thought you would just spank me or something. Which is  _ not  _ a complaint,” Keith adds hastily. “It was a good surprise.”

“Honestly, I didn’t think of it until you were in my office,” Shiro admits. He  _ had _ been planning to spank Keith, but—why be pedestrian? 

“The ever-brilliant Admiral,” Keith teases, and the title sends a slight shiver down Shiro’s spine. “It was—no, you were good. It was . . . intense, and I was fine but. I’m glad you slowed down for that.”

Shiro kisses the top of his head again. “You never have to thank me for that, baby.”

“Too late,” Keith says. “More chocolate, please.”

Shiro laughs and feeds him half a square to receive a pleased sigh from Keith. Shiro’s eyelids are growing heavy, soothed by hot tea and the sight and sound of Keith contented in his arms, but he will force himself to stay awake as long as Keith still needs him. 

Right on cue, Keith yawns. It makes his nose scrunch up and his whole face crinkles up with the force of it.

“Brush teeth?” Shiro asks.

Keith sighs and nods.

They totter back into the bathroom together, Keith still shamelessly naked, and Shiro strips off his sweatpants to join him in that endeavor. Toothbrush in his mouth, Keith raises an eyebrow at Shiro in the mirror, but Shiro isn’t taking criticism about this. Naked solidarity means naked cuddling all night long, which is a rare currency in a relationship where one person likes sweatpants at night and the other person likes sweatshirts. Keith’s arms get cold when they poke out of the covers and Shiro—well, Shiro doesn’t have an excuse. He just likes sweatpants.

Tonight, it’s Shiro’s job to keep Keith warm.

While brushing his teeth, Shiro takes the time to cast a studious gaze over Keith’s ass to assess the damage—his skin is red, risen into a couple of long welts and likely liable to darken into spots of true bruises overnight, but there’s no hint of bleeding or any kind of broken skin, which satisfies Shiro. Keith will be sitting uncomfortably for a few days but there’s nothing to be concerned about.

“Stop looking at my ass like that,” Keith complains.

“Like what?” Shiro says around the toothbrush in his mouth.

Keith spits the toothpaste out of his mouth and rinses his brush, replacing it in the holder. Then he turns around and pokes Shiro right between the eyebrows, smoothing out a wrinkle Shiro hadn’t realized was forming there. 

“I’m feeling good,” Keith promises. “That was—I came down easily that time.”

It’s true that Shiro rarely gets a Keith this talkative so soon after a scene, so he nudges Keith back in the direction of the bedroom so he can finish brushing his teeth. Shiro, on the other hand, is still feeling riotously protective over Keith, so much so that once his teeth are done and his face is washed, his fingers still itch to do something for Keith. He pokes through the medicine cabinet. Mostly full of bandages and braces for various joints, it still offers up a selection of ideas. Shiro pulls down a tub of ointment they use for scrapes and cuts, the large majority of which don’t come from sex, and then selects a bottle of Keith’s favorite scented massage oil.

Hopefully, Keith isn’t  _ too  _ tired yet.

Shiro steps out of the bathroom to find Keith in bed again, laying on his stomach with his head turned toward Shiro. Tentatively, Shiro holds the oil and ointment up for Keith to inspect.

The corner of Keith’s mouth turns up. “Yeah, Shiro,” he says. “Whatever you need.”

Relief floods through Shiro at the acceptance and he rushes over to Keith, planting one knee on the bed and swinging his other leg over so he can sit against the backs of Keith’s thighs, careful to stay below the raised welt on his legs. He runs a hand down the length of Keith’s spine just to touch him and Keith hums into it, his body relaxing minutely into the blankets.

“I’ll be gentle,” Shiro promises. He unscrews the tub of ointment and dips two fingers of his left hand in to scoop it out. The scent is medicinal, vaguely herbal and very sharp, and the first whiff of it is always a shock to his system but Shiro perseveres. 

It’s best not to get thick, oily substances on his prosthetic because it’s a pain to clean out of the finger joints. Soap and water-based lube are okay; most lotions and moisturizers are definitely not. He lowers his hand to touch Keith’s skin, first rubbing the ointment over the top of his ass. Working his way down, Shiro bites his lip as he watches the way Keith’s ass gives underneath his touch. It’s so full and muscular from all the work Keith does in the gym to maintain the rigorous training standards of the Blades, but knowing that intellectually is a very different experience from getting the chance to just touch it however he wants. And as hot as it is during a scene to grab at Keith, this right here is fun in a different kind of way because Shiro can take all the time he wants.

Shiro smooths his hand down to the top of Keith’s thigh, making sure to rub over that one perfect stripe of red that crosses both his legs, and on the way back up, he pulls Keith’s ass open just enough to get a peek at his hole.

God.

It’s a lot of work to take a quiet, deep breath and not sigh it out so that Keith hears him, but Shiro manages. His heart pounds in his ears. Keith is falling asleep and Shiro  _ can _ control himself.

“That good, baby?” Shiro asks quietly as he starts in on the other side of Keith’s ass with another swipe of ointment.

Keith hums contentedly for him, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. 

It’s harder to rub the right side of Keith’s ass with his left hand but Shiro isn’t a quitter, but more importantly, it’s a lot easier to  _ accidentally _ spread Keith open like this. Shiro gets shameless, rubbing his hand over Keith’s thigh and sliding his fingers around to massage over his inner thigh. Keith hums again, but this time it’s longer and deeper and Shiro might dare to call it a moan.

He slides his hand over Keith’s ass again to make sure all the ointment is thoroughly rubbed in; then he can lay both his hands on Keith’s back and slowly slide them down.

At this point, Shiro isn’t even pretending to be exclusively interested in giving Keith a relaxing massage but he just can’t stop himself from touching Keith. Forget the massage oil. Pliant and soft, Keith is patiently still beneath him, his body shamelessly on display. Shiro can’t stop himself from squeezing Keith’s ass any more than he can stop himself from getting hard to the sound of a moan sounding deep in Keith’s chest. Holding his breath, Shiro slides both palms down either side of Keith’s ass, stopping when he has two thumbs in place to spread Keith open for him. 

He looks—well, he looks like he’s been fucked. Shiro licks his lips unconsciously and a thumb slips closer. Maybe he could—

“Shiro,” Keith says dryly.

Shiro comes back to himself in a snap and blushes, pushing his hands up to rest safely against the dimples in the small of Keith’s back. “Sorry,” he breathes.

“No, don’t  _ stop,”  _ Keith whines. He cranes his neck to cast one pouting eye at Shiro over his shoulder. “Someone didn’t let me get off earlier.”

Oh, Shiro is tempted. Sometimes, Shiro gets off on sticking to his own commands and refusing Keith an orgasm even after a scene. Other times, like now, Shiro wants nothing more than fuck Keith full for the third time that night, giving Keith the release he’s craving just so that Shiro can feel him come around his cock. 

“I promised you a massage,” Shiro says weakly.

“If you really don’t want to . . . .” Keith trails off, turning his face back into the pillow.

Shiro stares down at Keith’s ass, considering. His hands slide down so they’re gripping both sides of it and he can get a good look at Keith’s hole again. Shiro is tired because it takes it out of him to fuck the way they did earlier, but he can’t deny the heat starting to spark in his gut or the fact that he’s getting hard again just from the sight of Keith’s beaten-red ass. 

He doesn’t have to think too hard about what he’s going to do now.

His floating arm shoots over to the end table where the lube is, maybe a little too overzealous as Shiro almost drags the whole table to the ground with how forcefully he pulls the drawer out. Keith snorts at the sound.

“Don’t use your fingers,” Keith breathes. “I just—I wanna feel you.”

Shiro hesitates, lube in hand and the fingers of his left hand already wet. He knows, intellectually, that Keith is fine and probably more than ready to take him, but a nagging voice in the back of Shiro’s head tells him he needs to check and make sure.

“Shiro,” Keith whines.

“Shh, baby,” Shiro says automatically. He drops the lube to the side, giving in easily. 

Keith does his best to spread his legs even further, but he’s trapped by Shiro’s thighs, and Shiro would like to keep it that way.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” Shiro asks. He pets Keith’s hip like he’s a nervous animal, drawing him into the present with Shiro and begging for his submission to this moment, to letting Shiro show him just how much he wants to be there for Keith.

It takes a long moment for Keith to nod, his arms reaching up to wrap around the pillow he’s using and squeeze it into his face. 

“Good,” Shiro whispers. “One more thing, baby. Then I’m all yours.”

He coaxes Keith’s hips to lift just enough that Shiro can slide a spare pillow underneath him, propping his ass up and giving Keith something to grind his hard cock against. 

Then there’s nothing left for Shiro to do but slick up his cock, doing his best to ignore how easy it would be right now to jerk himself off over Keith’s ass when it’s presented so nicely for him. 

Cock in hand, Shiro carefully shuffles closer on his knees, his left hand holding Keith open for him, and it’s an indecent sight. Shiro stares, utterly caught by the way Keith’s hole gives as Shiro presses the head of his cock against him and nudges inside. It never looks like it should fit but Keith opens for it, opens for him, and even though this is the second time today Shiro has treated himself to this exact sight, he absolutely cannot get enough of it. Slowly, Shiro rocks the head of his cock in and out, just admiring the obscene way his hole stretches and forcing whines of distress out of Keith as he still doesn’t get exactly what he wants.

“Shiro,” Keith complains, “just give it to me already.”

“Mmm,” Shiro answers, drawing his cock out completely so he can spread his hands over Keith’s ass again and just stare at his hole. He wants to eat Keith out, lick him open even more, but he can only imagine the size of Keith’s fury if he doesn’t get what he wants soon. Keith is uncompromising when he wants to be fucked.

Shiro presses back inside and this time he doesn’t stop. He slides his cock in until his hips meet Keith’s ass, filling him completely and grinding forward to try to go even deeper, to draw more of those sweet, careless moans out of Keith’s chest.

“Is that good, sweetheart?” Shiro murmurs. “Does that fill you up like you need, baby boy?” He pulls back just a bit so he can fuck back inside, a short little thrust that pushes a sigh out of Keith.

“Yes,” Keith hisses, his body rocking back to meet Shiro. “Yes, Shiro, that’s so good, I— _ fuck.” _

Shiro grins to himself and he plants his hands on the bed on either side of Keith’s chest. He leans forward, bracing himself, and when he grinds his cock in deep, the change of angle makes Keith sob out his name. His hands are white-knuckled on the pillow in his grasp and he has his head turned to the side to breathe so Shiro can see his open, gasping mouth. He looks beautiful, hair covering his face and shoulders flexing with pleasure when Shiro gives him something he really likes.

He doesn’t go hard or fast, instead keeping it slow and fucking Keith deep, grinding the whole of his cock inside. Shiro isn’t an idiot, he knows his size, but it still amazes him to watch Keith cry out for more even when he already has everything Shiro can give him.

Slowly, Shiro walks his hands forward so he can lean down and kiss Keith’s shoulder, brushing his hair off to the side so he can plant a kiss on the back of his neck. Keith whines, craning his head up, and Shiro acquiesces to give him a long, slow kiss, just as concentrated and teasing as the way he’s fucking Keith, like there’s not a single other place in the universe Shiro would rather be than right here.

“How’s that, baby?” he murmurs against Keith’s cheek. “Good?”

“Yes,” Keith breathes,  _ “yes.  _ Fuck.”

Shiro leans his weight to the left so he can free up a hand to touch Keith’s hair, petting over his head while his hips grind slowly, tauntingly. He tugs at Keith’s hair the way he likes and Keith moans for him. His voice like this—low, uninhibited, and noticeably hoarse from the way he swallowed down Shiro’s cock earlier—is the best sound Shiro knows, and he rewards Keith with a kiss to the shell of his ear.

“It’s like I said, baby,” Shiro murmurs, “you take it so well. Sound like you were made for me to fuck you, isn’t that right?”

Keith shivers, his mouth dropping open. “Shiro,” Keith gasps, “Shiro, what am I?”

“What?” Shiro’s brow creases in confusion.

“First—first the admiral, now you?” Keith says. He grabs Shiro’s fist where it’s pressed into the sheets next to his head. “Tell me—tell me what that m-makes me.”

Sparks zip through Shiro as he comes to understand. He pulls back Keith’s hair to make room for his mouth to bite at the back of Keith’s neck, nosing into his skin, and he laughs low in his chest. “Sounds to me like you’re a little desperate for—for cock, baby,” Shiro says. It’s getting harder and harder to hold himself in check; he can feel his orgasm starting to build and knows that a handful of hard thrusts are all it would take to lose it. But he’ll hold on for Keith, to make sure Keith gets what he wants.

And what Keith wants, apparently, is Shiro covering his whole body, surrounding him, fucking him deep enough to feel it for days, and whispering in his ear,  _ “You’re a slut, baby.” _

Keith sobs, his body lurching as he tries to grind back on Shiro’s dick. Shiro doesn’t give him the leverage.

“You need it that bad, huh?” Shiro asks, unable to stop himself from smiling. “I just can’t—can’t fuck you enough to keep you happy.”

“Fuck, Shiro—”

“I love that about you,” Shiro confesses, his mind whiting out as the rush of orgasm sounds off like white noise in his ears. “Love that you’re a slut for me, baby, my beautiful, perfect slut.  _ Fuck.” _

He comes buried inside Keith, the orgasm rolling through him in waves of tingling, intangible sensation. Biting down on Keith’s shoulder, Shiro muffles his groans there as he grinds his hips forever closer, crushing Keith down into the bed.

Mind buzzing, Shiro breathes deep, taking in the scent of Keith’s skin, and then he rolls to the side, pulling Keith with him. He has to get Keith off, has to make him come and give him the release he deserves for being so,  _ so  _ fucking good for Shiro tonight. He’ll get his mouth around Keith’s cock, swallow down everything he has to give and suck him until he’s twitching and whimpering with over-sensitivity, and then—

And Keith has already come.

Shiro pouts at Keith’s cock and the mess on Keith’s lower belly, smeared between his skin and the pillow Shiro had propped his hips up with.

Keith reaches down to card his fingers through Shiro’s hair. “Can’t believe you didn’t notice,” he says with a little breathless laugh. “I came as soon as you called me—yeah.”

“A slut?” Shiro says, pressing a kiss to Keith’s hip. He’s forever amused by Keith’s inability to say the things he says in bed when they’re out of bed—or, at least, not in the heat of things any longer. “My slut.”

“Yeah,” Keith says breathlessly. “All yours.”

Shiro can’t resist moving closer, his lips brushing against Keith’s softening cock. He glances up at Keith to check in and finds dark, interested eyes, and then he dips down, sucking softly to clean the come off Keith’s cock. Keith sighs and wiggles his hips, clearly too physically worn out by this point to get hard again, so Shiro keeps it light, backing off when Keith’s noises turn displeased.

“I love you,” Shiro says, licking his lips to make sure he got the last of Keith’s come.

Keith smiles and cards his fingers gently through Shiro’s hair, nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp. Shiro loves a good head massage and Keith loves to have his hair pulled—they’re a match made in heaven. “Love you, too,” Keith whispers.

“One more shower?” Shiro asks.

“Just a washcloth,” Keith says. His mouth turns up at the corner. “I wanna feel you in the morning.”

And with that, Shiro is unceremoniously kicked out of their bed to procure a warm washcloth and strip the ruined white pillowcase off its pillow. Actually, he’ll probably have to figure out a way to wash the whole pillow too because Shiro is secretly kind of a germaphobe when it comes to the state of his living space. 

Once everything is clean and in order and the lights are off, Shiro snuggles deep into bed with Keith, blankets piled on top of them and legs locked together. He lays his head on Keith’s chest to let the meditative sound of Keith’s heart beating fill his head.

The last thing he hears before he falls asleep is Keith’s voice.

“I got ideas for next time,” Keith murmurs.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Keith yawns so hard his out-breath becomes a vocalized sigh. “Mm.” Shoving his arm under the blankets, Keith finds Shiro’s hand to twine their fingers together. “Wanna be late again. Tell you in the mornin’.”

Morning is a long time away.

**Author's Note:**

> additional warnings: there's not breathplay in this chapter (i know i'm so sorry) but shiro does grab keith by the neck a fair bit. keith jokingly calls shiro 'daddy' one time but there's no actual daddy kink. think i tagged for all the kinds of slapping but there's a lot of it. also, i don't want to spoil my jokes before they come to fruition next chapter, but shiro is not drinking alcohol during a scene <3
> 
> whew
> 
> @[disloyalpunk](http://twitter.com/disloyalpunk) on twitter


End file.
